Writing Challenge: Oct 3, 2017

Prompt: Spend some time doodling for 5-10 minutes  and write something inspired by your doodle.

A bare tree drops its last leaves into the swift, sharp, swirling breeze.

At its feet, above the roots, the growing pile of leave grows.

In black and white, my sketch takes shape-

But in my mind the colors are bright

A celebration of the season’s beauty.

I draw winter squash, walnuts, apples and pears.

I begin to write the alphabet in cursive and straight-hand-

With right hand and left.

I begin to absently-mindedly craft abstract drawings

Of lines, swirls, spikes.

I fill the page with black ink of little value-

while I should be taking notes in class.


I Almost Do

I almost give my heart to you-

I almost do-

Want to make one soul of two,

And trust in you.

I almost do.

I almost love you.


When I say “forever”, it’s almost true.

I almost do-

Want to spend my life with you;

Exchange vows and rings too.

I almost do.

I almost love you.


I almost want to marry you.

I almost do-

Want to bind myself to you.

Stand by your side through and through

But to repeat those two words to bind us two,

I can only say “I almost do”.


Because It Happened

Writing Challenge: Sept 26, 2017

Prompt: Use a popular quote as inspiration for your writing.

*Quote: “Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.” – Dr Suess *

When you died, I screamed. I wailed, I cried. Then, I was silent. It hurt so much to know I would never be able to talk with you or laugh with you again. I thought of you every day, but I couldn’t even remember the best of times without tears. It was months before I could think of you without the pangs of loss. It’s been three years now since you’ve been gone. Now, when I think of you I smile. I grin when I remember your friendly face. I chuckle when I recall your snorting laugh. I laugh when I relive your most spastic moments. I miss your support, your empathy, love, your humor, and your heart, but I don’t cry because it’s over and gone- now I smile because it happened; I smile because you were my friend.

Wolves’ Song

He lay curled under an ancient pine when she first saw him. Taken in by his silver fur and powerful form she ached to move closer, to become a part of him. Enveloping him in her arms, he felt nothing but the caresses of a strong breeze. Waking from his slumber in a panic from the wind, softly she breathed in his pointed ear

“Be calm, be still, all is well.” And so their love began.

He ran wherever her strong breezed led. Her force nearly lifting his paws from the ground so he flew through the pines of the northern forests. He sang to her of his love for her presence; something he could not touch or see, but still hear and feel. His voice, howling with the frustration of their fate left his muzzle and she carried on this lament for miles on her winds.

He was a wolf, and she the wind, but their devotion was true and their love pure. Every day they spent side by side. The silver wolf lead the pack, inspiring young wolves with the swiftness of his paws and the haunting melody of his song. Years passed, but still he refused to take a mate, loving but unable to truly be with his love. Still, she blew for him and he ran for her, as years passed by dulling his silver fur to gray.

“I never got to see you.” He whimpered, his amber eyes dulling in his final moments.

“Be calm, be still, all is well.” She replied, stroking him with a gentle breeze, like the first night.

As he breathed his last she released all her power to the sky in a force so powerful trees were ripped from their roots. The mourning wolves howled their beloved brother’s song in desperation to comfort her, but she would not be comforted without his love.

The Moon took pity on this impossible love. It heard the song of the silver wolf and watched the pair through the old canine’s life and death. The goddess traveled to the underworld and reclaimed the old wolf’s soul and sent him back to his lover, reincarnated as an air spirit himself. Joy rustled the needles of every tree as the lovers became one.  The pack, relieved and elated at their brother’s bliss continued to sing the old wolf’s love song in praise to the kind hearted moon.

From this pack all wolves were born and spread throughout the world. Wolves young and old, grey, black, red, brown, and all other colors remember the benevolent moon and sing to her every night as the spirits of the wind; now her most devoted servants, carry their song in joyous gratitude.

Bon Fire

Writing Challenge: Sept 22, 2017

Prompt: Write something inspired by the saying “Where there’s smoke there’s fire.”

A thin line of gray smoke swirled in the light breeze. I could see it from down the road, even before I saw the cheerful flames. “Where there is smoke, there’s fire” I though as I drove up the long dirt driveway. “And with my friends there is guaranteed to be both.” I was assaulted before I even left the car- my best friend yanking the door open before I had even unbuckled my seat belt. “Finally!” She shouted over the salvaged junk-yard speakers broadcasting loud rock music. It was the perfect night. The house, backing onto a nature reserve, was remote enough to ease concerns about noise. The lack of city lighting allowed for a perfect view of stars in the clear night sky. The crisp October weather was ideal for cozy sweaters and blankets, warm mugs, and a hot fire, and for the first time in 6 years we had everyone together again. We were all adults now; we all had jobs, responsibilities, and a healthy bit of grown-up cynicism- but, that night, we were all teenagers again. Reliving “the good ol’ days”, when the flames of possibility still flared bright


Writing Challenge: Sept 21, 2017

Prompt: Write about a time you saw hope in what seemed to be a hopeless situation.


In the worst of times I thought we would never escape him. Twice before my mother had filed for divorce, and twice it never went through. I had begun to think we would be stuck with him forever- chained down by poverty, drugs, alcohol, and violence.

When he went to prison again, this time for two years, I rejoiced. We had already hit rock bottom. We lived, illegally, in a one-bedroom apartment. 10 of us, living on top of each other in a small space. There was no privacy. There was no money. There was little hope.

When he went away everything changed. Mom got a new job. It paid little and the hours were long, but it was enough to raise our heads again. We got a new place, now 6 of us in 3 bedrooms- an un-paralleled improvement. Most importantly, He was gone, and with him the anxiety, the fear, the drugs, and the violence went as well. For the first time in years I began to hope that there would be an end to our dark lives.

Without him in her life Mom gained courage. We left him for good. We left, going to the one place he wouldn’t follow us. Finally, on the third try, the divorce went through- finalized. We were free. As I looked at the snow-capped mountains, so different from the flat green coastal plain I came from, I smiled, fully happy for the first time in seven years.

If I Don’t Come Home In Time

I pull into the drive after a long day at work.

I am tired and hungry.

It is dark and silent.

I turn the key in the ignition.

I shut off the lights-

But I don’t leave the car.


I place both hands on the top of the wheel

And rest my head upon hands.

I breathe slowly, in and out.

I unbuckle my seat belt and gather my things.

I open my car door and step out of my refuge.

I mentally brace myself for what I may find.


Three steps to the back door.

I fumble the key into the lock and turn.

The door opens,

I call to you.

You answer and I am relieved.

Tomorrow the process will repeat again.


As long as you answer I know you are here.

As long as you answer I know you are alive.

As long as you answer I know you won the fight.


I fear for the day you don’t reply.

I fear for the day I walk through the kitchen

Down the dark hall

Into the room and find you there:

Sprawled on the bed

Surrounded by bottles-

Perhaps covered in blood-

With gun in hand

staring blankly at the white ceiling

with dark, unseeing eyes.

I fear for the day I don’t come home in time.

The Box

Writing Challenge: Sept 15, 2017

Prompt: Imagine finding a box. What is inside?

Outside, in the center of the grove of trees that grow in the backyard, I see a box. It is a pale wood, perfectly symmetrical, and entirely unremarkable- except for the simple fact that  no one knows where it came from.

I go outside; Intrigued, drawn-in, by the mystery.

I approach cautiously, but curiously. I cannot turn back. I do not. I will not.

Tentatively, I touch the smooth surface. It’s cool beneath my fingers.

Gingerly I lift the lid. It’s weighty, but not heavy.

I peer inside.


There are stars, comets, and darkness. There are planets spinning around.

My eyes widen in wonder.

In my amazement I let the lid drop.

I open it again.

Now it’s a coral reef.

Fish, dolphins, sharks, and rays swim about.

Corals grow in every bright color imaginable.

I blink. I close the lid again.

Once more I open the box.

I look at an enchanted forest.

Golden leaves canopy over chocolate tree trunks.

Little imps, and chattering fairies dart among roots.

Chirping birds and fluttering butterflies flit among the leaves.

This time when I lower the lid, I pick up the box and bring it inside.


Rock Canyon at Sunset

*Photo taken by me: October 8, 2017*

The Rocky Mountains are young, rough and wild. The way the stone jut out of the ground, violently and forcefully, takes the breath away.

At sunset in Utah Valley, the last rays of the westward sun lights up the rocky surface, painting the uneven facades bright gold. This, combines with the fall foliage turning to various shades of red, and orange. The evergreens as vibrant as ever, and the dusty rocks varying in shades of gray, brown, and yellow- all the colors contrast against the grey sky, so dark it is almost blue. It’s all so peaceful and quiet on a Sunday evening- its almost spiritual in it’s beauty.

Illegal Casino

Writing Challenge: Sept 10, 2017

Prompt: Write about playing a card game

Gambling is strictly illegal in the state of Utah, therefore any semblance of gambling is banned from public schools. That being said, we played poker and Rumi every chance we got: back stage during rehearsals, at lunch, in the library etc. To keep things interesting we would “gamble” with candy- naming each different color or candy type a different monetary amount. Three times we had our deck of cards confiscated: twice by the drama teacher, Mr. Carpenter and once by the vice-principal. As soon as the confiscator walked away we simply pulled out another deck and re-started our game. One night, while on break during a rehearsal for the up-coming school play, we tried hiding Nathan’s family van to play without interruption. In the cold fall night, the van windows fogged up. Assuming some other questionable activity was underway, Mr. Carpenter banged on the van door, causing us all to jump. We opened the door to reveal our underground casino, much to his surprise (as he was sure by now he had taken all our cards), and amusement. Feigning anger at our flagrant disregard to Utah law he ordered us back inside to finish rehearsals. We never got to finish that round.